


I found what I was missing when I fell into your arms

by JuliaBaggins



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 19:59:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5177783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaBaggins/pseuds/JuliaBaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He held Illya in his arms, running his fingers soothingly through the Russian’s hair. Illya was paper white, a hard contrast to the red that was covering his chest. Napoleon still couldn’t figure out how everything went so horribly wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I found what I was missing when I fell into your arms

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wanted to write a fluffy AU but somehow this happened...

Napoleon Solo had never been a man of prayers. 

But in that moment, he would have loved to believe in a god or something like that. A higher being, anything, anyone, to listen to his begging. He would have given everything he had to believe that there was still a chance for his partner to be saved. Napoleon refused to accept the unacceptable. He wouldn’t believe that Illya was going to die. He couldn’t.

He held Illya in his arms, running his fingers soothingly through the Russian’s hair. Illya was paper white, a hard contrast to the red that was covering his chest.  
Napoleon still couldn’t figure out how everything went so horribly wrong. He remembered how they had breakfast with Gaby back in their hotel this morning, arguing about a new dress she had bought. Later, Illya and he had observed a man suspected of being a member of a secret terror organization. However, their plan had not included them being recognized by their suspect and when Illya noticed that something was wrong, it had already been too late. Without them noticing the man had let them into a trap and Napoleon cursed himself for not being more attentive while following him. But it was supposed to be only a small observation, nothing they couldn’t manage easily. 

And surely nothing that would leave him trembling on the floor, holding a dying Illya in his arms.

Napoleon wished he hadn’t been gasping when the bullet had hit his leg. The injury was not too serious, he had had much worse, but it had surprised him and it had hurt. When Illya had heard his partner gasping he had turned around, worried, and looked Napoleon straight in the eyes. And suddenly, the worry in Illya’s eyes turned into a mix of pain and confusion. He blinked and slowly moved his head to look at his chest. Napoleon followed the movement with his own eyes and saw the red on Illya’s chest, the blood flooding from a spot close to where his heart was. 

Before Napoleon really realized what had happened the second bullet hit Illya, not far from where the first had landed. He collapsed to the floor while Napoleon finally moved forward, catching Illya in his arms.

Their suspect laughed at the sight of them and walked to stand next to Illya and Napoleon. He, Kevin Maxwell, showed his plain white teeth as he grinned down at them. Napoleon saw the gun, the one that had hurt Illya so bad, still in his hands. 

“Now, Mr. Solo, do you think I should end his pain?” 

A vicious smile was playing around Maxwell’s lips and he pointed the gun at Illya’s head. Napoleon had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying all the things he wanted to shout in the man’s face. The risk was too high, way too high with the gun pointing at Illya, but otherwise Maxwell wouldn’t have survived that question. Napoleon felt the rage rising inside him, the need to kill the man that had injured his partner, and when he realized that this rage was usually something that Illya felt instead of him it got even worse. He needed Illya, needed to see him being okay, he would not accept that he would never see again how Illya was laughing or getting angry or smiling at Gaby or rolling his eyes at something Napoleon said.

When Illya’s hand weakly gripped his collar Napoleon realized that there was no way he could let him go now, not even if he had the chance to kill Maxwell. He covered Illya’s hand with his own, tried to tell him through their touch that it was going to be okay, that he would not let Illya go. Never.

Maxwell’s smile grew wider. “Hmm, you should see yourself now. Don’t you think…”  
A shout from another room interrupted him. His ally, a man with a thick Scottish accent, told him to hurry, that they would have been discovered, that _they_ would be coming. Napoleon’s mind lit up a bit. That sounded like Gaby and their team, they would be here soon, there was still a chance for Illya to be saved.

Maxwell smiled at Napoleon one last time. “I’ll see you, Agent Solo. Him?” He looked at Illya, eyes closed, bleeding in Napoleon’s lap. “Nah, don’t think I’ll see him again.” And he disappeared through the door at the end of the room, followed by the Scottish man. Napoleon didn’t pay any attention to them anymore.

Napoleon looked down at Illya, softly touched his cheek. “Peril.” He noticed how strange his own voice sounded but it was not important, nothing except Illya was. When his partner did not respond the fear to lose the person that meant most to him in the world seemed to overwhelm Napoleon. The anger he had felt earlier was replaced by sheer panic.

“Illya, open your eyes.” Nothing. 

“Try it, for me. Please.” Tears were running down Napoleon’s cheeks.

Finally, Illya’s eyelids slightly lifted. For a moment his eyes were searching, unfocused, until they found Napoleon.

“Cowboy.” It was barely a whisper and when Napoleon tried to smile he failed. Illya sounded so weak, so vulnerable, so not like himself it broke Napoleon’s heart.

“Hold on. Just a few minutes more, okay? Gaby will find us and you will get a doctor and everything will be alright. Understood?” He tried to convince himself as well as Illya. Gaby and the others should be here by now, what happened, where were they, why didn’t they hurry as every minute was so important?

Napoleon noticed he was still crying but he couldn’t care less.

“Napoleon.” The way Illya said his name send shivers down Napoleon’s back. 

“Safe your strength peril.” 

Illya weakly shook his head. “Need to tell you something.”

“Illya, please, don’t…”

“I’m sorry, Cowboy. Should have said that earlier but I…” Illya coughed, some blood ran down his chin. “I thought we’d have time.”

Now there were tears in Illya’s eyes too.

“Napoleon, I love you.”

 

In the next moment, a few things happened at the same time. There were shouts and loud noises outside, Gaby rushed through the door followed by two soldiers and Napoleon opened his mouth to answer when he saw that Illya’s eyes were closed again.  
He shook Illya who was limp in his arms. 

No no no no no no.

Other people surrounded them; soft hands led Napoleon away from Illya. He didn’t pay attention. Illya’s words were still ringing in his ears.

_Napoleon, I love you._

 

He held Gaby’s hand while the medics surrounded Illya. None of them said a word, they were waiting, hoping, praying. Holding on to each other while neither Gaby nor Napoleon could think about what might happen. Napoleon felt himself shaking. He needed Illya to wake up, to recover, to be able to tell him…

A doctor, a man Napoleon may have seen once or twice before got up and went to stand in front of them. His eyes were fixed on his own shoes.

“We couldn’t do anything for Agent Kuryakin anymore. I’m sorry.”

 

Napoleon felt as he had gotten a stroke to the head. No. 

“Nein!” Gaby screamed and got down on her knees, sobbing, shaking. Napoleon didn’t move. He just stood there, like he had turned into a statue. 

The other medics left the room together with the doctor.  
They left Illya lying on the ground.  
Gaby was still screaming.  
Napoleon finally felt like he could move again, though he couldn’t breathe.

He took the few steps, not minding his wounded leg. He needed to get to his partner, to talk to him, because Illya Kuryakin couldn’t be dead, no, never, they had to be wrong. 

Illya laid in his own blood; the floor was deep red as well as his shirt. Napoleon managed to kneel, put a hand in Illya’s hair. He felt for a beat of Illya’s heart, because he had to know it himself, he didn’t believe the doctor, no, that could not be true, there must be something they had missed. Napoleon searched for a pulse, longed for it, but there was nothing. 

Illya Kuryakin was dead. And there was not a single thing Napoleon could do about that.

Napoleon felt as his own heart had been shot too in the moment the bullets had hit Illya. And finally he fully understood, he understood what Illya had said, what he should have answered. What he should have said months ago. But he had never known how, when, and now it was too late.

_Napoleon, I love you._

He touched Illya’s cheek, the flesh still warm. An illusion.

“Peril. I…”

Napoleon choked back a sob. He needed to say it but how could he? It wasn’t supposed to be this way; he needed Illya to look at him, one of his rare smiles reaching those bright eyes. He wanted to be able to kiss him, to be kissed back, but it was too late. Too late. 

Napoleon’s hands caressed Illya’s cheeks, his lips. He looked so beautiful, so peaceful.

He remembered when he had first seen that face, years ago in East Berlin, their first shared mission, everything that followed. Rome, Istanbul, Kiev, Los Angeles, Cape Town, Amsterdam, so many others. Napoleon remembered how they started to trust each other, how they became friends. How he suspected it could be more. All the times Illya had saved his life. And now he hadn’t been able to save Illya. 

Napoleon placed a light kiss on Illya’s lips.

“I love you too. Forever.”


End file.
